


Morning-Calls

by ladyspencer



Category: Venetia - Georgette Heyer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 03:27:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7601626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyspencer/pseuds/ladyspencer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes revenge is a dish best served by one's mama.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning-Calls

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Lord Damerel Proposes: Miss Lanyon Disposes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5494670) by [Ione](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ione/pseuds/Ione). 



Venetia lay back in the big bed with her eyes closed against the late winter sunlight. This was the first morning after their return to the Priory from their wedding journey, and she was going to take the time to enjoy it. Damerel, a surprisingly early riser, had been up and dressed before her, allowing her a luxurious extra sleep after their very early morning exertions. 

Venetia smiled, recalling the last time she had awakened in this bed. It had been at the end of November, an entire month before their wedding. She freely admitted--and Damerel acknowledged--that in her innocence, she had still managed to seduce him. Sick and tired of having other people plan her life, weary of unsolicited advice, and benumbed by the years of lonely responsibility imposed on her by her brother Conway, Venetia had managed to force the issue. She could, of course, recall every exquisite moment of that night. She could also recall every word of the conversation with her Uncle Hendred over the breakfast-table next morning.

It had all turned out well so far. While he absolutely forbade any repeat of the previous night, Phillip Hendred had an unparalleled gift for organization, and he had gained control of the situation before they rose from breakfast on that chilly November morning. Aubrey had been hastily packed off to Mr. Appersett while Damerel, Venetia, and her uncle had left the Priory that same morning, bound for London. A wedding during the Christmas season would allow for the three Sundays required to publish the banns. Damerel would take up residence in his town house, while Venetia remained under the protection of her uncle, and under his roof. The betrothal would be announced in the papers as soon as they reached London. Mr. Hendred had observed drily that plenty of society weddings took place with less notice, and that the publishing of the banns--at Damerel's home parish in London and by Mr. Appersett at Venetia's church--would add respectability to the proceedings that a special license would not. Mr. Hendred had smiled thinly as the discussion turned to what the reaction would be in both London and Yorkshire, but especially among Venetia's neighbors in the North Riding. He was sure the scandal-broth would be brewing and equally sure that he could put a stop to it. 

Bringing herself back to the present, Venetia sprang out of bed and began to dress, thinking as she did so of their leisurely trip through Italy. It had been wonderful despite the presence of Aubrey. She could still feel the warm sun, and her eyes and mind had been filled with the wonders of a new country--even as her nights had been filled with the wonders of her life with her new husband. She could not recall ever having been as happy. Now they were returned to the Priory, where they would enjoy almost a month of country quiet. Easter was quite early this year, falling during the third week in March, and as soon as it had passed, they would journey to London for the Season. Uncle and Aunt Hendred, and Damerel's Aunt Stoborough, were already hard at work laying the foundations for their successful integration into polite society. 

She ran lightly downstairs to the breakfast-parlor, where Damerel was waiting for her. He grinned his sardonic grin, "Feeling a bit tired this morning are we?" He accepted the cup of coffee she poured out for him. "Nidd and I have a little surprise for you in the stables when you're ready to join us." 

Venetia knew that Nidd, the head groom, had been searching for the perfect mare for her. "I'm looking forward to it," she smiled. They talked lightly of this and that over their breakfast until Imber, the butler, arrived with the post, which he handed to the new Lady Damerel. Venetia sorted through it rapidly, handing several letters to Damerel and keeping the two addressed to her. One of them was from Aunt Hendred, the other was directed in a hand she vaguely recognized. She broke the seal and read it hastily. Her "Oh, dear!" caused her husband to look up from the bills he was perusing and raise his eyebrows.

"It's from my mother," Venetia finally managed. "She and Sir Lambert are still in England. They're on their way to Harrogate and plan to break their journey here for a day or two to visit us." She frowned at the letter. "Good God! We can expect them before dinner tonight! Something about Sir Lambert's gout." She looked again at the letter. "It's dated some two weeks ago."

"Gout?" exclaimed Damerel. "Why don't they go to Bath like other civilized men and women? Why drag through two hundred miles to get to Harrogate?"

"She writes that the doctor is truly concerned. He wishes Sir Lambert to attend seriously to his treatment and his diet, away from the pleasures and temptations of Bath society. What in Heaven's name am I going to feed them?" 

"Well, we can be sure of one thing. Sir Lambert and I will not be lingering over our port or our brandy, I'll have Mrs. Imber join you here." Damerel paused. "I suppose it's a good thing the neighbors don't yet know we are at home. Though they'll find out soon enough." 

Venetia remained closeted with the housekeeper, Mrs. Imber, for over an hour. They agreed to meals ("Plenty of chicken," opined Mrs. Imber), which bedchambers should be prepared, and the thousand and one other little details attendant on such a visit. Mrs. Imber asserted that there would be no trouble about recruiting a couple of stout girls from the village now that His Lordship was so respectably married. "Be certain there are rooms prepared in the servants' wing, as I am sure they will be traveling with a maid and valet," said Venetia as they parted. "I'll see that preparations are made in the stables." 

Venetia found Damerel at his desk in the library, which had become their favorite retreat and sitting room during Aubrey's convalescence the previous autumn. She kissed the back of his neck. "I've done what I can in the way of preparations. I think there's time for a short ride--er, a short visit to the stable--before I have to do anything else.” He pulled her into his lap for a much longer, more thorough kiss which she broke off before she wanted to. "Mmm," she murmured against his lips. "Word is about to get out in the village that we're in residence. Mrs. Imber is bringing in a couple of girls to help with the work. I can’t help wondering what will happen next.”

Damerel was matter-of-fact as he set her on her feet and stood himself. “One of two things. Either they’ll be lined up to pay their morning-calls, or they’ll all ignore us. There’s nothing we can do about it either way. Now, if we’re going to get out to the stables, you’d best go and change.” 

Twenty minutes later, on the arm of her husband, Venetia gasped as Nidd proudly led the new mare out of the stable. The mare’s light-chestnut coat gleamed like silk in the pale winter sun, and her mane and tail were almost flaxen. Her arched neck was perfection, and Venetia could read mischief, but no malice, in the dark eyes and set of the ears. She stood perfectly still for a long moment before remembering she had brought provisions, then went forward to greet her new friend. “Hello, my beautiful lady,” she crooned, taking the reins from Nidd. She proffered a carrot which the mare delicately accepted. “We’ll have some lovely rides together, indeed we will. Ah, my sweet girl.” Venetia turned to her husband. “So beautiful. So very beautiful. Thank you. And thank you, Nidd, for your efforts.”

Damerel smiled. “We looked for guinea gold to match your own hair, but this is as close as we could come in a good English horse.” And after a pause, “She’ll look even more beautiful when she’s carrying you, my dear delight.” Venetia managed to brush his lips with her own as he lifted her to the saddle. 

When they had ridden out of sight of the stables, Damerel turned to her. “Does she have a name yet?”

“I’m going to call her Julia,” replied Venetia, patting the mare’s graceful neck. “After the Julia in the poem. Because she goes in silks.” 

“That’s likely to attract some comment,” he smiled. “Though Julia the mare will prefer to stay dressed in her silks.”

“They don’t have to know what Julia she is. Perhaps she’s named for a maiden aunt or some Roman matron or somesuch.” 

“Fair enough.” 

After reluctantly parting from her new friend, Venetia had enough time to swallow a light nuncheon before checking on preparations in the kitchen. She then ran upstairs to ensure that the bedchambers were well aired and that everything was being done to make them ready for the visitors. 

Her husband woke her gently an hour later from a deep slumber on the sofa in their bedchamber. “Best make yourself ready for our guests, my treasure,” he said quietly. “They could be here at any time.” 

And indeed, carriage wheels rumbled just as Venetia came downstairs, and she and Damerel made haste to go and greet the visitors who were arriving in a chaise-and-four. Greetings and air-kisses were exchanged, and as they all turned to enter the house, a second carriage, loaded with baggage, drew up behind. 

“Come in,” said Venetia warmly, as though she had lived in the Priory for years. “Take some refreshment while your things are brought upstairs.” She took Sir Lambert Steeple’s offered arm and noticed that he patted her hand gallantly, just as he had done on their notorious walk down Bond Street. He was still as jaunty as ever, though he was leaning on his elegant cane and walked with a pronounced limp. “You see?” she went on, “The brooch you gave me has become one of my treasures.” She gestured towards the aquamarines sparkling in the lace at her throat.” 

“Glad to see it, my dear,” he replied with a twinkle. Then, lowering his voice, he went on. “And glad to see you got the man you wanted. That fellow I met in London, what was his name? Yearly?” 

“Yardley,” returned Venetia.

“Yes, that’s it. The country squire. I don’t think he could ever have made you happy. You and Damerel will suit admirably. Ahh.” He settled into a chair with a grateful sigh and allowed her to set a footstool for him.

Damerel, having handed Lady Steeple to a chair, gestured to a tray where a decanter of Madeira had been set out. “A glass for you, Steeple?” 

“Capital!” replied the old man. Then he sighed and held up his hand. “But perhaps I’d best wait for some tea.” Imber had appeared in the doorway with the tray.

Venetia poured out cups for her mother and father-in-law before taking a seat next to her mother. “You’ve been in that chaise all day, but you look as fresh as if you’d just left your dressing-room, Mama! How do you manage? And how did your riding-habit turn out? Did it please you?” 

“My love!” said her mother, raising a pale, slender hand. “We shall get on wonderfully if only you won’t call me Mama.” She paused. “Why not just ‘Aurelia’ when we’re among ourselves here? And when we’re in company…” she paused.

“I shall call you Dearest. Will that suit?” 

“Perfectly,” said her mother with a sigh. “Now, do tell me how you liked Italy!”

Meanwhile a parade of baggage had made its way upstairs. When Venetia saw that all was ready, she stood. “Let me conduct you to your chamber, Aurelia. I feel certain you will want to rest a little before dinner. And I thought perhaps we wouldn’t dress this evening since it’s just the four of us.” She was pleased at the look of relief on both guests’ faces. “We’ll dine at six.” She led her mother upstairs, noticing that Sir Lambert was leaning on the arm of his valet. 

The dinner had been a source of quiet anxiety to Venetia for the entire day, and she was immensely relieved at how well it came together. Mrs. Imber had outdone herself with a progression of lightly dressed chicken, veal, and even fresh turbot. Lady Steeple delighted her daughter by revealing a personality as merry and cheerful as that of her husband, and Sir Lambert flirted shamelessly but mildly with his pretty daughter-in-law. Damerel, who had many acquaintances in common with the Steepples, laughed often and heartily, and when the ladies rose, Venetia sighed inwardly with relief. 

The four did not linger for too long in the drawing-room after dinner, and Venetia was able to learn that her guests would prefer to breakfast in their chambers and that neither would put in an appearance before noon. She was also relieved to find that the Steeples would stay one more night after this one at the Priory, leaving for Harrogate the following day. It was not quite ten when she stood up to lead the procession upstairs and to see them safely bestowed in their bedchambers. 

Damerel stayed downstairs according to his longstanding night-time custom. The house-dogs (which now included among their number Venetia’s Flurry and Aubrey’s long-suffering Bess) were ready for their final outing of the evening. Damerel led them outside, pausing to savor the one cigarillo he allowed himself each day until they were ready to return to the house. He then took his candle and made his way quietly upstairs. Venetia was already in bed, exhausted and deeply asleep, when he got in beside her. As he kissed the top of her head, she stirred slightly, burrowing into his side with a little sigh. 

Morning found them both awake at six when the servants began pulling the shutters back downstairs. By mutual agreement they dressed quickly in riding-clothes and headed for the stables, where Nidd soon had their horses saddled and ready. Neither spoke much as Venetia began to get to know her mare, letting her stretch out into a fine gallop and putting her at several respectable fences. When they returned to the stable, Venetia waved Nidd aside, preferring to rub Julia down herself before consigning her reluctantly to the groom to be put up. 

Breakfast was a somewhat hurried affair, and by half-past nine, Venetia had conferred with Mrs. Imber and hurried upstairs to wash and dress. With the help of one of the housemaids--for she had not yet hired a maid for herself--she dressed carefully in a morning gown of her favorite jonquil yellow. She sighed as the maid brought out the finishing touch--a delicate cap of fine Brussels lace, hallmark of the married woman--and placed it atop her blonde curls. Venetia was not certain she would ever grow accustomed to wearing caps. 

Damerel was waiting for her in the drawing-room, and Venetia settled into a sunlit corner and took up a bit of embroidery. “You’re now the mistress of Elliston Priory,” he began. "If the neighbors decide to call, it falls to you to receive them, my dear delight. I know you’ll do splendidly, but I really shouldn’t be here with you when they come.” 

Venetia sighed. “I know it,” she replied. “If anybody comes, it will at least be someone I’ve known for most of my life.” It was not many minutes before they heard carriage-wheels. “The curtain rises. And that’s a very fetching cap,” murmured Damerel, squeezing her hand before leaving by one of the side-doors to the back hallway. 

“Lady Denny. Miss Denny,” intoned Imber as he threw the doors open, and Venetia rose to embrace her oldest friend.

“I never saw you in greater beauty, my love,” declared Lady Denny as she and Clara took seats. “Italy must agree with you. And such a lovely little cap!” She settled herself more comfortably. “We have some happy news as well.” She gestured, beaming, toward the blushing Clara. “Clara is now the betrothed of Mr. Edward Yardley.”

“Oh, Clara!” Venetia suppressed the spurt of laughter which threatened to disgrace her. “I wish you every happiness.” She turned to Lady Denny. “Has the date been fixed?”

“We’re keeping the news rather private at the moment,” replied Lady Denny. “Clara will come with us to London this spring so that she may have her Season and be presented at Court. You know I want that for all my girls. We will announce the engagement after her first ball, and the wedding will take place here sometime in the autumn.” Lady Denny paused, gathering her forces. “And how . . . how is Lord Damerel? Well, I hope.” She forged ahead, barely stopping for breath, and speaking in a hushed tone. “I hope you have remembered all my warnings about gentlemen and their . . . habits and customs. I am sure my advice will stand you in good stead as you become . . . further accustomed to married life. I am only sorry I was not able to advise you before . . . before the wedding.” 

Venetia, struggling to find words for a reply, was mercifully interrupted by Imber, who sonorously announced “Lady Lanyon. Mrs. Scorrier,” and she rose to greet the newcomers. “It’s lovely to see you,” she murmured. “Charlotte, you look very well indeed. I trust you are in good health?” Her brother’s wife would soon be confined to home, and truth be told, she looked awkward, pale, and utterly miserable. “Mrs. Scorrier, how do you do?” Charlotte’s mama, judging from her pursed lips and the two red spots on her cheeks, did not do well. 

“And how is everyone at Undershaw?” Venetia continued.

Mrs. Scorrier sniffed. “Well, Ribble and Mrs. Gurnard have both decided to retire, and the cook has sought employment elsewhere” she began. The red spots on her cheeks grew more pronounced. “I don’t think we’ll ever dislodge Priddy from her nursery, however.” 

“I am sorry to hear that,” said Venetia, making a mental note to locate the faithful butler and housekeeper. “And has Conway settled in? I saw so little of him at the wedding. He must be anxious to greet his first child.” 

“Sir Conway is always underfoot,” replied Mrs. Scorrier. “And those dogs! He allows them into the dining-room!” She sniffed again. “We’ll soon have things turned round, however.” 

An awkward pause ensued, finally broken by Charlotte. “Dear Venetia, that cap is so becoming! It must have come from Paris.” She smiled wanly.

“It did indeed,” replied Venetia. “Damerel ordered me several from that milliner in Paris where you purchased your bonnet.” 

Mrs. Scorrier seized control of the conversation once more. “Brussels lace? I should think you would be making more economies, what with one thing and another. Of course a young girl like you cannot be expected to know how to hold household.” She looked about her. “I can see you have your work cut out for you in this house.”

Salvation intervened a third time as Imber arrived to announce “Mrs. Yardley. Mr. Yardley.” And Venetia rose once more. 

Edward’s colorless mother contented herself with a distantly formal, “How do you do, Lady Damerel.” Edward shook her hand with an ironic, “My felicitations, Venetia.” He turned to place a chaste, but somehow possessive, kiss on Clara’s hand. “My dear Clara,” he murmured. “I must say I am unpleasantly surprised to see you here even with your mother.” Lady Denny said nothing, but her hands gave a slight flutter. 

As Edward took his seat. Venetia’s sense of humor took over, and she suppressed the urge to say, “You must be wondering why I have called you all here today.” 

Fortunately, Edward was never at a loss for words, pompous as those words might be. “I must say, your wedding came as a surprise to all of us, Venetia. Especially since you chose to be married in London, at such a distance from all your friends and relations. And so suddenly.” He paused briefly and cleared his throat before going on. “I trust that the fact that you have returned to the Priory means you intend to live quietly here? Away from certain, ah, unfortunate associations to be met with in London? You would be well advised to do so.” 

Venetia’s color rose, and her eyes sparkled with what might have been anger. She looked around. Lady Denny was pink with disapproval. Charlotte and Clara had fixed their eyes on their laps. Mrs. Yardley regarded her son with fond approval, while Mrs. Scorrier’s face wore a tight, triumphant smile. “Dear Edward,” began Venetia.

She was interrupted. “Ah, Yearly,” said Sir Lambert Steeple from the doorway. “How d’ye do? We met in London.” Leaning heavily on his cane, he offered Yardley two fingers to shake. “I am sure you are as delighted as we are that Lady Damerel now has a husband to advise her. A troublesome task, directing a young gal one isn’t even related to. And especially when she's managed an estate the size of Undershaw.” Sir Lambert paused for an expectant moment to allow Edward to present him to the ladies. When no introduction was forthcoming, he swept a bow to the room at large. “Your servant, ladies. I am Steeple, Lady Damerel's father-in-law.” 

Damerel stood in the doorway with Aurelia Steeple on his arm, looking over the room with his sardonic grin. “Lady Steeple,” he began. “You must allow me to make known to you some of our friends and relations. Lady Denny and Miss Clara Denny, Lady Lanyon and her mother Mrs. Scorrier, Mrs. Yardley and her son Mr. Edward Yardley.” He raised an eyebrow, taking note of Charlotte and Clara’s blushes, Lady Denny’s tremulous and determined smile of welcome, the bright-red spots on Mrs. Scorrier’s cheeks, and the white lines bracketing Edward Yardley’s thin lips. “This,” he went on, “Is Aurelia, Lady Steeple, Venetia’s mother. And this is Sir Lambert Steeple.” 

Lady Steeple acknowledged the introductions with a gracious inclination of her head before allowing Damerel to escort her to a chair. “Dearest!” she began. “That cap is ravishing.” She then turned her attention to Mrs. Scorrier. “I must confess, Mrs. Scorrier, that I am somewhat surprised to see you here. Yorkshire is so very far away from Cambrai. Or Paris. Or Lisbon.” 

Venetia’s callers began to take their leave shortly thereafter.

Dinner that evening was a triumphant affair, thanks largely to Aurelia. She had managed a subtle, yet truly masterful, set-down of Mrs. Scorrier, based on a few choice incidents from the lately-concluded war in France. “That should take care of her for you,” Aurelia asserted as the two couples lingered over apples and nuts. “If it doesn’t, just write to me when Lamb and I return to Paris. I’ve plenty more.” She paused, considering. “There’s following the drum, you know, and then there’s following the drum.” 

The following afternoon, with the Steeples safely sped, Venetia settled on the sofa in the library while her husband took his place at the desk. A fire burned cozily, and Venetia considered ordering supper to be served here. Imber appeared at the door. “I beg your pardon, Miss--er, your ladyship.” He offered a silver salver bearing a letter. “This was forgotten two days ago in the breakfast-parlor. One of the maids found it while cleaning.” 

Venetia opened the letter with the murmured observation that it was from Aunt Hendred. She scanned it quickly, for it was not long, and then she began to laugh. Her chuckles soon gave way to open mirth, and she laughed until the tears ran down her cheeks. She had to borrow her husband’s handkerchief, and after she had wiped her eyes and blown her nose, she still laughed.

Damerel grew impatient, and when he could bear it no longer, he snatched the letter from her and read it aloud: “Darling Venetia,” it began. “Be On Your Guard. I have a Note today from Aurelia Steeple. They are travelling from London to Harrogate, and they plan a Visit to You and Damerel during their Journey. My Dear Niece, I beg you! Do Not allow this Distressing Fact to become known amongst your Neighbors. I fear All is Lost! Yr affectionate Aunt Maria Hendred.”

**Author's Note:**

> I am sincerely indebted to Ione for her fic, "Lord Damerel Proposes: Miss Lanyon Disposes." I immediately and almost unconsciously made it part of my fanon, and this story is based on her idea of the events that took place just after the book ended. I'm also grateful to an unknown author for the idea that publishing the banns might make a wedding appear more respectable. 
> 
> I have not published a fanfic in fifteen years, but I was formerly very active in another fandom and managed a group. I don't know any other Heyer fans, so this fic has been edited by two friends but has not been vetted for content or accuracy. Any glaring errors are mine alone.


End file.
